Sonnet. The Musing Lover
THE MUSING LOVER .
Long have these walls, since touch'd by Ruin's hand,
Hung, threat'ning death to all that pass'd below;
Yet, strange to tell, while pensive here I stand,
Their desolation fills my breast with woe.
For here I first beheld the darling maid,
To whom henceforth my best regards are due;
For here I first that graceful form survey'd,
By far the fairest in affection's view:
Here first those eyes I saw, whose radiance clear
With softest influence penetrates the soul;
Here first that voice I heard, whose accents dear
Can each tormenting passion's power controul:
Here first I knew that strong, but gentle mind,
From which my future life its comfort hopes to find.
Long have these walls, since touch'd by Ruin's hand,
Hung, threat'ning death to all that pass'd below;
Yet, strange to tell, while pensive here I stand,
Their desolation fills my breast with woe.
For here I first beheld the darling maid,
To whom henceforth my best regards are due;
For here I first that graceful form survey'd,
By far the fairest in affection's view:
Here first those eyes I saw, whose radiance clear
With softest influence penetrates the soul;
Here first that voice I heard, whose accents dear
Can each tormenting passion's power controul:
Here first I knew that strong, but gentle mind,
From which my future life its comfort hopes to find.
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